am?”
Rhadamanthys bowed again. “You are Life-Giving Persephone, daughter of Holy Demeter and Cloud-Gathering Zeus.” He paused for a moment, thoughtful, then added, “And now you are also August Persephone, bride of Hades and Queen of the Underworld.”
The goddess raised an eyebrow. “That last bit remains to be seen.”
HADES STALKED INTO the throne room, causing the door to slam shut after he’d passed it. He stood in the center of the dark chamber, willing the oil lamps to light, before climbing the few steps to his throne and throwing himself into it.
He’d hurt her. The female he’d taken such pains to secure, he’d harmed. Inadvertently, perhaps, but the fact remained that he’d injured the one being he wanted more than any other. He’d wanted Persephone so desperately that he’d utterly lost his mind at her taunts. Her truths. Her horrific, heart-rending truths.
The god buried his head in his hands. Castrating Cronus.
“You were supposed to be mine.”
Hades sat up and gave his face a vigorous rub. Well, at least now he understood the mystery behind the fogging of the Viewing Mirror. “I’ll always be able to see Persephone, as long as she doesn’t mind being seen,” he said. Clearly, when the Mirror clouded over, it was because she’d donned the bracelet enchanted by Hecate. So she could…sample.
He heaved a long, labored breath. With whom had she lain? Mortals? He nearly retched at the thought. By the Fates, not mortals , they had no right to her. “I have no right to her,” he acknowledged to the empty room.
But the thing was done. Persephone was his bride now and, even if she had given herself to a hundred mortals, he would not let her go. How could he? She was youth, she was beauty, she was joy. She was his. She could fight him, curse him, hate him, but she was his.
But what of the others? How many had there been? Had she loved one?
Hades reached for the pitcher of wine he’d willed into appearance and poured himself a healthy measure. That, he downed in an instant, and refreshed his cup with another generous serving. He set down the pitcher and cradled the goblet in one hand.
For a brief moment, when he’d returned to his bedchamber, the god had harbored a fledgling hope that Persephone might come to accept him, perhaps even love him someday. When he’d entered the room, she hadn’t looked at him with disgust or contempt, as other goddesses surely would. She’d observed him warily, yes, but something in her eyes reached out to him. That unnamable glint confirmed all he’d hoped of her. In that moment, he’d seen promise, a chance that she might eventually welcome a future with him.
But now? How could he ever hope for her love, when he took her against her will and then cracked her ribs ? And what if she did love another?
How the other gods would laugh if they knew his thoughts. What did Zeus or Poseidon care if their wives loved them or nay? Indeed, Hera’s jealousy annoyed Zeus, as Amphitrite’s did Poseidon. What did they care for their wives’ love, when they could couple with anyone they chose? Perhaps only Apollo could sympathize with his grief, for one whom he’d loved had preferred death to his embrace. Would he understand, or would he fight for his sister’s freedom?
Hades saw Persephone in his mind’s eye, the way she’d looked when he pinned her against the wall. So feminine, so beautiful. So arousing. Deep, searing need tore through him, and he suddenly wondered if he could keep her still long enough to bed her. With her strength, it would prove difficult. But then he remembered his nephew, Hephaestus. Surely he could make chains that would bind even a goddess. Of course, that would only make Persephone hate him more, but what choice did he have? He’d be a fool to think she could ever come to love him now.
He laughed at himself. He could not make her love him, could not make her fear him. If all he could manage was the claiming of his marital